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At first, Astarion enjoyed the idea he had found a gentle lover.
It felt safe in a way- to allow himself to be loved by one who would not trespass. Two months after the crown was handed back to Mystra, he still was eager to press soft kisses on his cheek. As if this was an activity Zynn could happily do until the end of the world, and not a hasty preface to something more desired. As if to be allowed to even do so was a pleasure beyond imaging.
Zynn’s devotions went beyond gentle touches, when Astarion allowed it.
For a while it was thrilling to feel in control of himself, to be the center of someone’s world. Astarion could appreciate the irony that after his cries were ignored by every God and Goddess, he had found a cleric who hung onto his every word. Who was happy to be on his knees, to be able to fulfill every soft plea Astarion would make of more , please don’t stop , right there .
It was a contrast to what he had been taught to expect. Most of the victims he had lured back to Cazador’s didn’t exactly focus on bringing him pleasure. If one took him in their mouth, it was usually just a crude prelude. A way to convince themselves that it was fair when they flipped him over and used him. His experiences with sex had been about trying to keep as much flesh on his back as he could, to scrape out the meager meals he was allotted.
Now he wasn’t subject to random whims. Instead it was questions. Zynn was eager to learn the little things that brought him pleasure. To ask him things Astarion struggled to answer.
Decades of finely tuned instincts began to worry about how often he stood while Zynn knelt. The way purple eyes frequently looked up at him and waited, eager to bring him pleasure. How things weren't being taken from him, how instead the number of gifts were becoming increasingly unequal. It had been months since the parasites had been evicted, but feelings of guilt and shame crawled through his brain just like the tadpole once had at how he was being cherished.
He wanted so desperately to be able to pull out the confidence of his old performance. To purr and slink and achieve something. To chase away the fear that he was just degrading the person he loved by making Zynn care for him, rather than letting him do what he wanted. What he deserved, really, to Astarion’s body, considering all the care he gave.
What troubled him though was that Astarion had ideas, speculations that deliciously dark things swam in his lover’s pointy-eared head.
He could see little hints of it, allowed to exist for a brief moment when he took the drow by surprise. How sometimes his hands would briefly turn into claws and scrap along the walls if Astarion pulled the man to box him in. How carnivorous his gaze could be after he devoured a moan. How oddly insistent he had been about getting a solid four-poster bed, when he was spartan about everything else.
Astarion knew he’d have to lure the truth out. The way Zynn acted, all eager to sit down and discuss things or pause to check in with him during sex, it was easy to forget hot blood ran through his veins.
Really, no one could casually talk that much about boundaries and consent and be vanilla.
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Astarion eventually found his chance, curled up in the warmth of a post-sex haze. After a little encouragement, he had managed to get Zynn to use those wonderfully long limbs of his to grab at his curls while he railed him from behind. It had taken several iterations of ‘more, harder, yes’ to get the man to pull strongly enough that Astarion had to let his lover coordinate his body. To get Zynn to give him the gift of feeling used, consumed, useful.
There was a careful silence that was waiting to be broken. If Astarion didn’t get to it first, Zynn might do something stupid like apologize.
“I liked that a lot,” he tossed out quickly.
Astarion held onto the reason, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain that hearing his lover make a few categorically new sounds of excitement felt safe. Instead he waited, as a loving touch carded through his hair. Like Zynn was apologizing for having brought pain here earlier, perhaps thinking if he did it quietly Astarion wouldn’t notice.
When the pale elf hummed and leaned into the touch he heard it: a soft confession whispered into the crown of his head. “I did too,” Zynn said as he snuggled close to plant a tender kiss on his scalp.
Astarion desperately wanted to keep this. A paramour who always faithfully returned to gentleness. Who for some reason enjoyed showering Astarion with little kisses of affection and gifts. Who always had interested questions about his day, his struggles, his curiosities. Who looked at him like he mattered.
Maybe at first, all this doting had been nice. But now, as time had worn on, it felt like it was far past Astarion’s turn to be cared for.
Besides, Zynn wouldn’t hurt him too badly. He was sure of it.
“I actually would enjoy doing more of that,” Astarion suggested with a grin.
He captured Zynn’s hand, threading their fingers together so he could hold it close to his chest.
Zynn’s tone was cautious and measured. It made Astarion think of a predator made lean with hunger, trying not to spook a needed meal as it moved forward.
“A little heads up is nice,” he admitted. “And of course, if anything doesn’t feel good I’d want you to tell me immediately.”
Astarion hummed, the little truth tasting far sweeter than a simple orgasm.
“Of course, my dear,” he said. “I’ll let you know if anything isn’t up to my standards.”
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Flophouses had a particular smell to them. It was a horrible perfume of stale beer, half-cleaned up bodily fluids and rank desperation.
Somehow the man grinding on top of Astarion had all of them in equal measure. It was like having a trash can grope you, while having to smile.
He was beginning to see patterns a year in. City guards like this man, when they were in places like this, wanted cheap thrills to fill them up. Booze, cigarettes, him. But as much as they tried to wear their filth like a badge of pride, they were always so easy to lure back to the Upper City.
How disgusting they left his body was counterbalanced by how much free time they could grant him. Cazador was rarely thrilled at anything he brought back. He was just as likely to award his spawn a rat for a starved immigrant or a pampered civil servant. At least guards were efficient, Astarion told himself to distract from the grease stains being worked into his collar.
He was pulled from his musings by a hand moving from gripping his shirt, to wrenching his jaw forward.
“I want you to be vocal,” the man spat at him.
There was a tone to it Astarion wasn’t sure of. He knew to writhe when touch was placed on his body, to moan when hands wandered to places people found sensitive.
“What do you mean, darling?” he asked, letting the words slip out in between the man pawing his dick as if he found the act uncontrollably arousing.
He saw a flash of yellowed teeth, before the tiefling brought talons to his stomach and raked.
It wasn’t only Cazador, it seemed, that found his screams to be pleasing.
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Astarion was pleased with the change in timbre in their relationship.
He had been shoved against a few surfaces over the last few weeks and learned that Zynn was rather fond of leaving hickies on his neck. (Astarion, to be fair, was also thrilled. For most of his undead life, his body didn’t have enough blood to spare to bruise. He wore that first hickey like a crown, a physical reminder of how much he had now.) His lover tried to demure, joking about turn around being fair play after Astarion having left so many marks on him. A little encouragement soothed the coyness away and gave them something fun to indulge in together.
All it took to start today was for Astarion to come into the living room with just a new shirt and give a small hint or two. And then Zynn would be pressing him against the wall to bite little affections into his skin. Having a hand restrained wasn’t uncommon either. But there was something about how the man groped at Astarion’s ass in a restrained manner, that suggested he wanted something more.
Astarion had a wonderful thought. He quickly said it.
“You’d like to scratch me, wouldn’t you dear?” he said.
The rapid change in topic, in a way, seemed to leave Zynn spinning. He broke away from biting kisses on Astarion’s neck to mutter a confused, “What?”
The vampire shrugged, running a hand down the loose shirt the drow still was sadly wearing to trace the faint line of hair that ran downwards.
“I can feel your hands holding back,” he specified. “Trying to be gentle.”
Zynn’s eyebrows furrowed as Astrion grabbed at him. “I don’t- I don’t I think this is a conversation we should have with your hand around my dick, Astarion.”
The pale elf shrugged. “But I like your dick,” he whined. “Think of it as a stress toy. Maybe it will help me to be open and honest if I can play with something.”
He gave a little squeeze as demonstration and tried to hold back his excitement at the dark gleam he saw spark in Zynn’s eye. The one he was quickly learning meant he was thinking of how to fuck the smugness out of him. (Astarion enjoyed how it wasn’t taking, yet Zynn was eager to repeat the same experiment again and again.)
Zynn groaned, perhaps as a way to cover up how he really enjoyed it all. The little game of snarky prey and reluctant predator Astarion had been luring him into.
“I don’t want to go too fast,” Zynn replied.
“What if I like it,” Astarion purred. “What if I think it’s thrilling to know I inspire such ideas in you?”
Zynn tried to lift an eyebrow, but it was a little hard to school your expressions when someone was jacking you off.
“I believe I might have stumbled onto one of your secrets, my dear,” Astarion purred, utterly pleased with himself. “My sweet little Zynn, always the soft-hearted one. The one who spends his days watching over children, strays, and the well-being of society. The one who has these deliciously wicked thoughts in his heart of hearts-just for me.”
Zynn opened his mouth to say something, and Astarion decided to press a little harder and squeeze out a moan instead.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” he chirped.
He watched as Zynn pressed a hand against the wall, his nails screeching against the wood as he scraped them down. It wasn’t often he got to see Zynn really flush. His skin was a dark granite, and even when he was lively, it was hard for the purple to shine through. He really out did himself this time, though- the color seeping through his cheeks and leaking onto his ears.
“Yes,” he growled out. “I want to mark up your pretty little ass the same way I do your neck.”
The look of lust on the man’s face was beautiful- his lavender irises almost eclipsed by pupils blown wide. There was just a touch too much composure left in his body though. Some little quiet secret the drow was keeping from Astarion. He wanted that one too.
Astarion placed his lover’s hand from where it had strayed from.
“What are you thinking Zynn,” he asked as he pressed the man’s hands into his flesh, encouraging him to start taking what he wanted already. He was achingly hard from seeing how excited Zynn was. Astarion wanted his lover to start moving soon. Hells, he could feel the little twitches in Zynn's hand, all but screaming he wanted to as well.
After a few ragged breaths, Zynn admitted “I want you to be vocal.”
“What- what do you mean, darling?” Astarion asked, hoping that Zynn would be too distracted by his fingers playing with the slit on his shaft to notice his little stutter.
A flash of hesitation slithered across Zynn’s face. Then, the hand that had been holding his wrist still went to gently cradle his jaw.
“Only if you want to, my Star,” he stressed. “Always only if you want to.”
Astarion could feel the heat flagging. He brushed away the concerns like cobwebs, and smiled.
“Afraid you can’t make me?” he barbed.
Zynn grinned and Astarion felt the weight of the larger man press against him. The smell of salt and campfire that often followed Zynn washing over him. It was easy enough to sink into that, the achingly familiar scent to distract him from this. From getting what he wanted, what he needed to do really. He felt Zynn begin to kiss him, gifting him a little tenderness. Astarion moaned into it out of habit, hoping the sound was as pleasing as the taste of gentleness in his mouth. He wanted to be as beautiful to this kind man as he had been to hundreds of others, who never offered him a scrap of kindness the second they had the ability to take.
Something small and metal was pushed into Astarion’s hand. The novelty of it made him blink away the fog and look down. It was one of the little ornaments Zynn wore in his hair.
“If you drop that bead,” Zynn said tenderly. “I will stop.”
Astarion gave a little nod. He knew that tone. He always had to do that now- talking, affirming, consenting. Or the fun would stop.
Zynn gave an experimental rake, slowly trailing little red lines on Astarion’s body. It made the vampire shiver. Little lines of pain were being etched into his body while adoring eyes watched him.
Zynn leaned in, nipping at his ear for a moment before asking, “What happens if you drop it, Astarion?”
The nails were pressing into him, but had stopped moving otherwise. It was maddening. Astarion squirmed, waiting for it to keep going before he realized the game’s rules.
“Your hand will stop scratching me,” he said- hoping it was specific enough to fit Zynn’s desires.
He was rewarded with nails biting into him, marking little trails of love into him. The first few drags were careful, each claiming a bit of new space. But the moment Zynn angled his hand a bit and crossed the lines, Astarion felt his breathing turn into a keen whine.
There was a flash of white teeth.
“Good boy,” Zynn encouraged. “Do you want more?”
Astarion nodded, moaning when Zynn pulled his body right up to his and used his nails to push Astarion's pelvis on his thigh. The little encouragement was all he needed to start rocking his hips into him, thoroughly smearing the drow's trousers with pre-cum.
Zynn’s nails began to move again, and there was a tinge of iron in the air now. It made Astarion salivate a bit- hunger and desire mingling the same way pleasure and pain did. He might float away, if it wasn’t for the way Zynn held him down. When the man moved back to his neck, his teeth announcing their return with a little scrap before pressing in, time left the room. Astarion gave up the need to support his body- anchored by the scrape of nails on his thigh, the press of canines on his neck and the warm torso humping him.
Astarion held on that bead for dear life as he moaned out his orgasm.
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Clever marks were the worst.
Not because they tried to outfox Astarion. No, a few years in and people had stopped noticing really. As long as he had enough blood to animate him, to keep the air of desperation away, most of his carefully chosen marks would follow him to their doom. A few enjoyed the desperation though, to be frank.
No, the clever ones were the people who bartered best with their lives. That wrung as much satisfaction out of his body in exchange for their deaths.
“Your back is so pretty,” the young woman said after he licked her through the first crest of pleasure. Her nails traced the curves of his muscles, feeling his bones beneath as he lay waiting on her bed, ready to start the second round.
Once upon a time he had enjoyed lovers who could go multiple rounds. Now, the ones that needed time to recharge were more ideal- easier to lure away to a second location while their bodies recovered. He'd have to let this one take more from him, let her hands get tired from stealing pieces of him, until she would consider leaving her comfortable bed for the Szarr mansion.
Astarion didn’t like the thread of active cleverness in her compliment. He wanted to get her back on track to the abattoir.
“Prettier than my mouth,” he asked, before trying to dive back in.
Nails bit into his face, halting him.
“It could be,” she said. Her eyes flicked to the bedside, where the candles the Inn had provided had been burning with a smoky flame.
Oh yes, this one was an aspiring artist. He’d have to play to the ego, or she might go sulk and ruin his chance at supper. And keeping his skin intact.
“Will you make it?” he asked, threading in the little bit of desperation people adored.
She held coy for a moment, pretending to think about it until Astarion added a soft, begging, “Please?”
Her arms were long enough to reach two of the candles without moving from her spot in the bed. This close, Astarion could see the tallow candles had a few inches of liquid in them. He didn’t get much more time to look, because a hand was quickly pressing him back to her slick heat.
“Don’t stop,” she warned as he started.
Astarion held back a laugh. This one was feisty, but her frame was so small she couldn’t quite meet the violence she craved- not to someone accustomed to it anyway. Then, she dumped a hearty splash of the hot wax and the skin on his back blistered instantly. It knocked the breath out of him. She fisted her hand in his curls- yanking him down until he returned to the task.
“Good pet,” she sneered out. “Keep going and stay still.”
Years later, Cazador would carve the contract into his back. If the little blonde had her way that night, Szarr would have had to do it on a marred canvas.
Astarion didn’t lament having to scrape her broken body off the floor once his Master was done with her.
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There was a line of seven candles in glass containers, each a different brilliant color on the table. Astarion had watched Zynn take each one out, carefully looking it over before placing them down. Something was clearly going on in his head. The man might have been quiet, but Astarion couldn’t help but notice how his ears had tilted up a bit. How he moved if there was a little bubbly song in his veins.
If he gave it a few days, Zynn would probably say something. But the book Gale had thoroughly recommended had ended up being a blathering sentimental romance that wasn’t sitting right in Astarion’s stomach today. He was bored and wanted to get something done today.
“What do you have there, darling?” he asked from his perch.
“Ah, a holiday present from Sabrăe. She got some good quality mica from Amn and has been putting it in everything,” he said, offering a candle for Astarion to inspect.
Astarion took the little pink thing, holding it up to sniff at it. It was plain- perhaps a hint of rose being the only thing he could detect.
“Hmm, well, the color is wonderful,” he offered delicately. “Perhaps next year she’ll figure out the scent.”
That earned him a chuckle, a little pearl of mirth that slipped out even though Zynn quickly covered his mouth to hold it in. Astarion arched an eyebrow, failing to see the joke.
“These types of candles aren’t scented intentionally,” he explained.
It was hard sometimes to remember Zynn was a cleric. Especially when his dalninil ’ s idea of an appropriate holiday gift was sex toys.
“Do we send a dildo back as thanks?” he sighed. “She’s not going to ask how they worked, right?”
Zynn perked up instantly. “Oh, do you enjoy this type of play?”
Astarion shrugged. “I’ve done it a few times.”
Habitually, Astarion neglected to share the details. If he crossed off everything that someone had done to him, there would be nothing left for Zynn. Astarion placed his book down and laid his head on his hand, enjoying how Zynn’s attention circled him.
“My little songbird is awfully quiet,” he pouted. “Care to share what you are thinking of doing with those candles?”
“I know you might have some…different feelings about it but,” Zynn began slowly, waiting to see Astarion give a little nod for him to continue. “Your back is so pretty. If you'd be okay with it I'd love to-”
Zynn said something about colors that Astarion missed. Thankfully, Zynn had turned around to grab the green and purple candles as he kept talking, so he had missed Astarion’s little absence as well.
“That sounds fun but I would like to say it's my dick that’s pretty,” he deflected, running a hand over his body to emphasize its immediate availability.
That earned him a smirking, “It’s not a contest.”
The vampire rolled his eyes, but perked up when Zynn leaned towards him.
“They’ll need a little bit to burn first,” he said. “I could give your gorgeous dick some attention while we wait.”
Astarion enjoyed how Zynn’s fingers skimmed over his clothes, eager but waiting for permission. Not wanting to let the man get up, Astarion lit the candles with a little magic before helping him remove a few layers. Zynn was more focused than him, getting his lower torso bare at an alarming speed, fast enough Astarion was still soft.
Astarion was still kicking off his trousers as Zynn licked at him, not remotely deterred by a moving target. Instead Astarion felt a little hum of happiness when his sloppy kisses and licks got him hard enough to expose his glans. A few seconds later he got to feel the hum around him when the man just dove in and swallowed him whole.
He melted into the pleasure, for once not worrying about how rarely Zynn asked for him to service him like this. The scale would be balanced in a few moments. For now, he could enjoy the way Zynn was clearly playing a game to see how far back he could shove his dick down his throat.
Eventually the man popped up for air, his face wet with saliva until he wiped his mouth.
“I think that’s enough to start,” he hummed looking at the flickering line of candles.
Zynn observed them delicately for a moment, his eyes narrowing in concentration. He glanced back at Astarion and then grabbed the purple one.
“Lay back,” Zynn instructed. “Just let that arm hang off the sofa and tuck the other one under you so your shoulders aren't raised.”
He waited until Astarion composed himself before asking, “Any areas to avoid?”
Astarion shrugged. A spell would all heal the same. He couldn’t imagine Zynn going for the eyes, and he knew his dick could survive a lot at this point. It would be easier this time, now that he knew what to expect.
“Alright, well I always start with the arms so….”
Part of the game was holding back from bracing himself. It took a lot of energy to pretend to be serene so you could turn into a proper mess later. His mask slipped off when Zynn flipped his own arm over and poured a few drops in the crook of his elbow.
Zynn made a tiny sound of discomfort. But Astarion couldn’t smell the bitterness of burning flesh. He didn’t feel it either when he ran his hands over the small patch of skin.
“Astarion?” Zynn asked, confused.
The elf blinked, realizing he had leapt off the couch and was fiercely cradling his love’s elbow. He dropped the limb, his fingers curling in on themselves.
Shit .
The candle clinked against the table as it was put down.
“Would you like to cuddle?” the drow asked after a few moments had passed and neither of them had thought of anything better to say.
Astarion grabbed at the air, letting Zynn know he wanted to be the big spoon. It earned him a soft huff, and broad shoulders to use as a pillow. He pressed his face into the nap of Zynn's neck, and prayed Zynn wouldn't force him to explain. He wasn't sure he could put into words how much he needed to be of use sometimes. Mostly to Zynn, so he'd keep him close. But maybe a little bit for himself too.
Astarion wasn't ready to own that yet. He was still trying to decide if it made him broken to find enjoyment in having someone hurt him. If saying yes to Zynn’s desires meant co-signing on what had been done to him before
It was easy, natural even, to understand why a partner might want to hurt him in a controlled way. His own desires though, came wrapped in a tight layer of mortification.
His makeshift pillow let him ruminate for a bit. It was tiring being with someone who didn’t stop observing him, looking for little signs. When Astarion threw his arms around Zynn, the man simply hummed and laid a hand to rest over his.
"It didn't burn you," Astarion observed, trying to stay as distant to all this as he could.
“There are different types of candles,” Zynn explained. “Soft candles like these melt at low temperatures if made correctly.”
“You were testing it,” Astarion guessed.
Zynn hummed an affirmation. “You are always supposed to test it first,” the drow said. “It can be a lot. Especially when you have multiple layers in one spot. Even soft ones aren’t for me.”
Astarion could hear the quiet coda: they didn’t have to be for him either. They could just be a gift they enjoyed watching burn.
The candles ended up being stored in a shelf for a bit of time. Eventually, the vague sense of unease melted in Astarion and little seeds of curiosity began to sprout. When Zynn was away one day, he carefully lit one up. He let only a few drops of wax melt before snuffing it out and pouring it over his skin.
He tried not to think about how the warm wax cradling his skin made him feel alive.
A few days later, Astarion decided to approach Zynn and ask to try it with him. He neglected to mention his little test. Saying instead he could see why someone would enjoy splattering pretty colors onto a lover. Especially someone with beautiful skin like himself.
Sometime halfway through, Astarion felt the fear burn away. He sank into the simple joy of watching his beloved treat him like an art project, snarking that perhaps the wax was too cool for his tastes if anything. Eventually Zynn was able to interpret his barbs by pouring it in more delicate areas.
"Oh, don't stop," he mocked back, enjoying watching Astarion eat his own words.
Probably because it was clear Astarion enjoyed being fed them as well.
Eventually, most of the candles were on Astarion. Zynn was looking them over, preening at how lovely his bizarre creation looked. Astarion went to get up, but a firm hand held him down.
"Stay still," Zynn chided. "I don't want you to ruin this."
They quickly fell into another game. One where Astarion, for once, tried to be obedient as his lover climbed onto him and began playing with the few parts of him that had been left unmarked. And Zynn would just laugh at the effort before diving back down and doing everything in his power to make Astarion writhe.
Eventually, Astarion was so tired there was nothing left for him to do but lay there. Feeling long fingers stroke inside him to build up another crest of pleasure he’d be led through with a soft, “Good pet, keep going.”
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Followers of Lovitar where some of his favorite marks. It was easy to withstand their ‘affections’, years of Godey’s work having taught him how to take a whip. Few mortals had the skeleton's endurance- even fewer had Cazador’s strong opinions about how screams should sound.
On a few wonderful occasions, Astarion was offered the chance to mark flesh himself. Those rare nights, where he brought his Master a meal without having to pay for it with his body, were the closest to good he could say he remembered.
He didn’t seem to be in such luck this evening, although the “brother” he had found at least showed a certain brand of care. Astarion could admit he wasn’t terrible to look at either, especially when his eyes lit up after a particularly good strike of the whip.
“Ah, don’t slouch beloved,” he scolded gently, encouraging Astarion to stand up towards the end. He ran an affectionate hand down Astarion’s back, smiling at the little shivers his touch elicited when he ran over broken skin. Smearing the precious little blood Astarion had. The vampire tried not to think what it meant that he was willing to offer that up.
“Just gorgeous,” he muttered. “You must be one of Lovitar’s most cherished creatures, with how you wear your pain.”
The way the man embraced him, fingers desperately digging into Astarion’s skin, he certainly seemed to believe that. Some of Lovitar’s lashes were like that- a little of their own affection spilling onto him by mistake. Still, it was...not nice, exactly, the way he nipped at Astarion’s ears until he wrung out a too honest shiver from the pale elf.
“You were made for the whip,” he praised. “I am honored to have been given the chance to do this with you.”
It was not the most displeasurable, to be given something like that.
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They have been living together for almost a year now.
Astarion couldn’t say he was one to mark dates with sentimentality. That was something the humans and halflings focused on, and thankfully he didn’t have to weather that attitude with Zynn.
On that day, Astarion just happened to find himself in one of the many speciality shops nestled in the quiet section of the Upper City. The type that took an invitation to get in, or enough gold slipped into the right palms to grease the door open. At this point, Astarion wasn’t ashamed to admit that the staff remembered him. They always fawned over the “gorgeous couple” when they came in together. But he felt pleased to see one or two faces carefully watching him, trying to decide if it was worth the risk to ask why he had returned solo for once.
He skimmed the shop's selection- red eyes bouncing over items they already had at home. The way Astarion dashed through many sections, it made him realize what a collection they had amassed. Still, one corner of the shop caught his eye.
Astarion let his hands wander over floggers and whips, perhaps feeling a little nostalgic when he saw the nine-tailed scourge. One paddle felt alive in his hand though, and he picked it up- amused by how it had a cut out heart on the board. Zynn loved leaving marks on him. He could almost imagine his legs littered with dozens of little hearts, and started thinking about how grateful hands would wander after- touching, praising, pleasing.
Telling Astarion he did so well. Bending him over and working him open with the same care and gentle strength. Not letting him squirm away from an eager tongue, reducing him to a sobbing mess of pleasured nerves. Leaning in and whispering he knew his good boy could take more before filling him up, enjoying how Astarion’s legs would give out and he’d had to hold him up as he thrusted-
“Anything I can help you with, sir?”
Astarion blinked, ripping away from his little fantasy.
“Does this come in any other color,” he asked. Like a bored customer, and not someone trying to surreptitiously hide a bit of an erection.
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The drow wore a flat expression on his face when Astarion pulled out one of his purchases from a stuffed shopping bag.
“Yes, yes dear. I know, I know. New elements- must talk first, fuck after. But I think you’ll find for once I don’t have as sordid of a history with this type of thing.”
“That’s great Astarion,” Zynn said with a stiff smile on his face.
Astarion waved away the concern. “Really, dear, I thought I was doing better with the whole communication thing you demand everytime.”
A quick flick of the ear. Annoyance? Frustration, perhaps? The confident way Zynn started soothing, “You are, you are,” meant Astarion couldn't quite decipher the conflicting signals.
“Well, I know how much you love leaving little marks on me,” Astarion continued. “And I may have slightly scandalized a worker after staring at this little darling for too long thinking of all the wonderful things you might do with it and after.”
Astarion was still trying to decide if they would ever get back to that shop. Certainly a little vivid day-dreaming at a sex shop wasn’t completely improper etiquette. Right?
“Anyway, just feel it,” he said, confident in his choice.
He pushed it into Zynn’s hand, enjoying the look of how his fingers wrapped around the handle when Astarion closed them for him.
“Isn’t it just delicious,” he murmured, petting the paddle and tips of Zynn’s fingers from where he held it loosely.
Lavender eyes were looking him over, searching for something. Eventually, his lover asked quietly, “And you picked this out all by yourself?”
Astarion nodded, eager to hear the thin thread of love that was woven in this statement. Astarion might not have been sure how to read the situation, but he could tell Zynn was trying to listen to him.
To figure out why this object seemed to fill him with so much excitement.
“Yes,” Astarion said proudly. “Why don’t we use it tonight?”
He felt tension worm its way into Zynn’s hand, to the point the leather crinkled a little bit. It traveled upwards, a distinct coldness wrapping itself around his posture.
His voice was still warm when he made a conscious effort to shrug, and mutter out, “I’m not sure, Astarion.”
There was something going on, between his pointy ears. The little flashes of fang and fur that brought out a desire to stalk and hunt in Astarion. He loved the way secrets crunched between his teeth when he flushed them out.
“Oh come, please,” Astarion whined.
Astarion used his height to his advantage, slipping into the space between arms and ribs with ease to nuzzle up against Zynn’s neck. The man wasn’t remotely immune to fawning- at least here in the privacy of their home.
He enjoyed how the stiffness melted, how his partner oriented towards him. Ensnared by round eyes pleading quietly.
“Besides, I paid good money for this,” he sulked.
If you took enough shots, eventually something would fail catastrophically. Astarion was used to thinking on his feet, but the sudden rigidity- the way for a brief moment the body he had been lounging into felt harsh and inhospitable- sent a little tinge of concern through him.
It didn’t feel like the next step in their usual dance of Astarion getting to play the brat and Zynn rewarding him. It felt more like running face first into a wall. Something that maybe with luck he could find a lock to pick to squeeze through. But more likely held traps even his clever fingers couldn’t find until their blood painted the ground.
Astarion decided to wait. His lover always returned to kindness. Astarion had told him he wanted something- he wouldn’t be punished for that. Even if he had brushed against something raw and painful in Zynn’s past in the process of trying to explain it.
His faith was rewarded when a hand thawed to rest on Astarion’s jaw.
“Do you trust me?” Zynn asked as his hands worked, tilting Astarion’s head with gentle ease.
A year ago, hells even two seasons ago, the casual ability for the man to control Astarion would have been terrifying. The way that his touch- gentle, commanding, insistent- had begun to be something that Astarion craved would have worried him more than a stake through the heart.
It was one thing to give a partner a list. To allow them to visit perverse pleasures on you, at your behest. Power exchanges were interesting like that- the concept of who ultimately held control providing a little murky.
It was another thing to trust . To crave to find out what someone had in store for you, carte blanche.
The first yes slipped out of Astarion as Zynn was biting little kisses into his neck, utterly savoring the first patch of skin that had submitted to his desires. He moved to claim other parts- confidently slipping his heel right behind Astarion’s foot to lock him in place. He smiled as a little pressure moved the long line of Astarion’s body to him, opening him up for a hand to run over him- claiming space as nails dug at the fabric covering him. Promising it was all very temporary- a minor inconvenience he’d solve soon. For now though, he reminded Astarion he could still brush over a nipple or grab at the crest of his hip where he was a little ticklish.
The second yes trickled out when he ran over the tender flesh at the top of his inner thighs.
“Do you trust me,” he repeated, a little fervor dripping out of his mouth this time. “To make choices for you. To tell you what you want. To reward you for submitting to it?”
The third one came out louder. A keening, resounding, and enthusiastic “Yes,” so loud that Astarion didn’t even register the sound of the paddle hitting the floor. He just welcomed the addition of a second hand. One that busied itself with tearing at clothing, occasionally deciding that when a button wouldn’t yield to it that it would be ripped off instead.
Astarion had a lot of experience being nude. Zynn didn’t stop until he was naked, his flesh only covered where his lover’s body touched it. To press soft kisses or hold onto a part of him, possessing it.
Teeth began nibbling on his ear, the pressure careful at first as they brought warmth to the area. Astarion noticed that as other parts of him began to react, Zynn was biting harder as if to encourage his writhing. Then, his head was held firmly and teeth tore into sensitive skin.
Zynn held him through his moaning, stroking legs as he bucked at the air. It was only when his frantic little movements began to peter out that Zynn opened his jaws. The loss of pressure made him whimper a bit. The way Zynn kissed the wound he made, well that made Astarion cry out a bit more.
“Beautiful,” Zynn praised as he let the tips of his nails gently roll Astarion’s nipple, clearly pleased with the sounds he was pulling from him.
Astarion was panting when he heard Zynn reach into the bag, digging through the more mundane purchases until he found lube and a butt plug. The man squirted a little into his hand, reaching down as he used a knee to lift up Astarion’s leg a bit to give him access.
He was being given gifted chains of bites on his neck, his shoulders that would leave overlapping marks on his skin while fingers worked him open. Sometimes when Zynn would bite especially hard, he’d also dig in with his nails or slip another finger in. A few of the marks caused blood to trickle down his skin, the air biting him once his lover had left. When the tip of the plug replaced fingers, Astarion’s unmarked ear was hounded by nips. It wasn’t until it slid in fully that Zynn bit down hard on this one as well.
Filled up, he was leaned over furniture- the arm of the sofa supporting his torso while his legs were arranged a bit apart. Nails running up and down his legs weren’t shocking, but when the individual fingers joined together and rested on his ass for a moment, Astarion looked back.
He caught a brief moment of Zynn looking him over, a serious look on his face.
“You wanted marks, pet?” he asked.
It was a quick check-in, a clear moment where Astarion could leave without issue. To wrench back control of the situation. Otherwise, it was also a chance for Zynn to get him to beg a little, to enjoy knowing how much this pleased him.
“Yes,” he whined trying to figure out how long he’d have to wait for Zynn to pick up his new little toy and use it.
Instead of seeing his partner move to grab anything, he simply smiled and said calmly, “I want you to count each one, then.”
Before Astarion could think too hard on that, he watched Zynn rotate his arm on and deliver a spank. It was stinging on impact, and his body clenched from the pain- including around the plug.
He let out a soft, “fuck” as he closed his eyes from the stimulation. Soft hands petted the spot, soothing away the tingle of impact but reminding Astarion he would have a hand-shaped imprint on his ass tomorrow- if it wasn’t coloring already.
“You didn’t count,” Zynn chided, once Astarion’s breathing had leveled out a little bit.
He didn’t give Astarion space to respond, instead delivering another spank- carefully landing the blow as to not overlap the first.
The sensation wasn’t shocking this time, and Astarion was able to pant out a soft, “Two?”
Zynn hummed in response, and used his other hand to play a bit with the flare of the plug- pushing on until he heard a little series of whines. Astarion didn’t find it too hard to count out the third hit, but the rapid pace of the fourth had him barely able to obey the command.
When Zynn hit him a fifth time, he found it hard to form the word as he panted out, “Hfi.”
He heard a sound of concern from behind him, and then Zynn was back to playing a bit with the plug. Astarion couldn’t help but arch his back up, rocking back into the affection.
“You almost said it,” Zynn encouraged him. “Finish it.”
The tone might have been sweet, but the way he toyed with Astarion- well that was a little devilish. Especially when he racked nails over the forming bruises, layering snesations . It seemed to be a little game for him- to do something the second Astarion caught a moment of breath. Eventually, Astarion was able to mutter out a soft, “five'’ and listen to the man nearly squeal in glee.
“Very good,” he praised, pressing a kiss to the abused flesh. “This is one reason I don’t like tools like that. Look at how undone you are just like this. I wouldn’t want to miss a drop of this.”
Zynn took one of his hands that had been digging holes into the furniture and guided it down towards his cock.
“Play with yourself,” he said, giving Astarion a chance to angle his body so his dripping cock wasn’t shoved between his belly and the sofa.
He was given a few seconds to paw desperately at himself, before Zynn moved to his other side and delivered a firm blow.
Astarion squeaked out a “six” and was rewarded with the seventh hit. He panted out the two syllables, bucking into his hand. Zynn interrupted his counting on the eighth hit with the ninth. Astarion was pretty sure he counted the tenth, but it was not nearly as important to him as how Zynn furiously started playing with the plug. He was wiggling a digit in, then two, curling on that delicious spot as he pressed on the plug’s base until he heard his lover crying out and the sound of cum hitting the floor.
Kisses as gentle as the dawn were placed on Astarion’s body as he rode out his orgasm. Eventually, he was able to look back and see his love happily petting abused flesh.
Before Zynn could do something stupid like ask him how it was, Astarion looked down pointedly. Even though the other man was still clothed, he could see the outline of a cock desperately straining against his pants.
“Can I put that in my mouth?” he asked. “Please? Pretty please?”
A few moments later, when Zynn was thrusting down his throat, every little push made his tender bottom ache in the most wonderful way as he knelt.
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“Sometimes I miss the tadpoles,” Zynn admitted afterwards, when Astarion was cataloging the bruises he had been gifted while laying in his lover’s lap.
It was such a bizarre thought that it snapped up Astarion’s full attention.
“In what way,” he asked, when Zynn wasn’t forthcoming with more details.
“To be able to share memories again,” he admitted. “To let you hear things without having to voice them from my own mouth.”
Astarion didn’t think of himself as a dumb man. It was fair to say he could be impulsive, eager to ignore warning signs if he thought the reward was worth it. But it didn’t make the words Cazador had sneered at him true. If anything, he was an astute observer of patterns. Someone who knew how to navigate dangerous waters of conversation, where others hesitated in fear they would be dashed on the rocks.
There was a perverse wisdom in failure. Astarion was hesitant and unsure in places most found comfortable. But out in the wilds, the unknown, the dangerous spaces, Astarion thrived on the chaos. Unencumbered by the fear of what pain could be. Just hopeful that there were better things he could find.
He went fishing, casting a lure with the most tempting thing he could think of to a man like Zynn- raw honesty.
“You still could tell me,” he said. “I’d like to know.”
The drow hummed, and Astarion could see his fingers working for a moment. Probably considering what language this conversation would be easiest for him in. It was the desperate earnestness of a person who wanted to pay a price only once.
“Do not-” he began, his voice summoning walls. This time they made Astarion think of the breadth of a tree. Solid but warm and still growing. A place where no locks you could bargain with, no traps you could die on would ever be. But one day might be home to flowers.
“Do not joke about money and sex,” he finally decided. “Not with me.”
His hand was lifted up, and Astarion felt the need to nod- to actively affirm he wanted whatever was about to come. The tips of his fingers were guided to a spot just above Zynn’s hips, encouraged to trace a raised spot where lines of scarring peaked. Astarion was released so his hand could wander. He traced that one line down, down, down so far that Zynn had to twist a bit to allow him to find its end on the other side of him.
There had always been pain when the parasites forced their minds to brush together, without care for how jagged pieces would almost snap against each other in the process. This just brought a deep taste of sadness to his tongue. It was kinder, at least, by Astarion’s measure.
There were lots of similar lines littering Zynn’s body. Astarion’s fingers had met many of them over the last year. There was something in his mind that was bizarrely sure some had softened since their time together. Soothed by kind touch, smoothed out by sounds of happiness wrung from his own mouth.
This one remained hard- unyielding, unchanging. It made Astarion want to kiss the space below it, and promise to honor that. To hope that keeping a respectful distance would at least remove the chill of pain from it.
“Never again,” he promised instead.
Later he’d have to ask more questions. To circle back and think about spaces where Zynn was hesitant and how to navigate that with him. For now though, Astarion just moved his hand to places where he knew Zynn liked to be held.
He basked in the joy, the naturalness of how even a delicate conversation could feel with his partner. Maybe not everyone could enjoy this, but the way Zynn smiled at him, the way his body relaxed into his touch- well, it made Astarion feel like he was made for this.
Maybe his fingers wound a little desperately into Zynn’s hair as Astarion leaned over and nipped at his long ears, delighting in the shivers of joy he caused. It was nice to see his lover look him over, clearly entertaining the idea of round two.
He wanted to give Zynn a little gift first. Something that suited his style- a little too honest, a little too macabre, a little too joyful for most people.
Astarion leaned in, so only his beloved could hear him whisper, “I am honored to have been given the chance to do this with you.”
Zynn’s smile, his little touches felt like a warm summer river. Lapping over him and washing away a bit of his own harsh lines.
It was euphoric to be given gifts like that. Again. And again. And again.
☁️ ☽【❤️】☾ ☁️